Mudblood
by Sparkly Faerie
Summary: "Who decided that 'mudblood' was an insult? I mean, really?" Oneshot, seventh-year. The very vague beginnings of JPLE.


**Hi all!**

**I've been working on a bunch of Lily/James fics for the last few days (I have more than one in progress at the moment), but I felt the need to add something a little shorter.**

**I don't know if this is going to be a series of oneshots or just a oneshot on it's own. We'll see.**

**This isn't fluff, if that's what you're after; it's more of a friendship-with-possibly-the-potential-to-turn-into-something-else type thing. If anything, this is the moment where (in my head), Lily began to grow some respect for James. :D**

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it. All rights to Harry Potter and affiliated products belong to Ms J.K. Rowling and the other proper entities.

**Summary:** Who decided that 'mudblood' was an insult? I mean, really?

**Rating:** T

**Genre:** Friendship/Romance

**Warnings:** Very, very, _very_ mild sexual harassment, and at least one particularly bad cuss word. I still don't think it warrants more than a T rating though.

**Word count: **1,600 exactly

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><p><strong>Mudblood<strong>

Who decided that 'mudblood' was an insult? I mean, really?

I mean, if you think about the word in terms of etymology, it doesn't even make _sense_. How can someone have mud for blood? How would their heart pump it? I mean, mud is sluggish and viscous; that's not to say that blood_ isn't_ viscous, but mud is a lot closer to a solid than it is a liquid. Unless you're talking about muddy water, which is a whole other playing field.

But that's beside the point.

Whenever I get called a mudblood, I can't help but get the most ridiculous visuals in my head; a heart pumping thick, brown, sluggish blood through my veins. I can picture my skin being all brown (and not a 'skin tone' kind of brown, but the kind of brown of the lakebed, or the dirt in the gardens) and disgusting, looking more like a swamp monster with a shock of red hair rather than a witch. It's quite silly, really.

When Severus called me mudblood last year, by the lake, it wasn't the word that hurt me. I'd been hearing it for years; it was just another word. (Now I can just sneer at whoever says it, deduct points and assign detentions, which is always fun.) What hurt me most about that day was finally knowing where his loyalties lied; not with defending his childhood friend and standing up for what was right and fair, but with darkness, with evil and murderers.

I'd seen the signs, I wont lie. I saw him skulking around in the dungeons between classes and having whispered conversations with Avery and Mulciber during mealtimes. I could see that he was going down a dark path, even though he denied it every time I brought it up. I knew it would end badly; I knew we wouldn't be friends forever. I just wanted to hold on to that childish, naïve hope that I could save my best friend from an evil path; that's how it happened in all the stories, right? The love of a good woman, and all that rot? (Not that I ever loved him as more than a best friend. But I was willing to try if that was what it took to save him.) But I'd known for a while that it was hopeless; nothing is ever like the stories.

I even said as much to Potter when we got back from summer hols last year; I told him that, even though I didn't condone the manner in which they'd done it, they'd done me a favour and I was thankful.

Then he'd asked me out again and I'd just huffed and walked away.

I'll never understand why a room falls silent at the word. I suppose it's a lot like the muggle word 'cunt' (which is actually said a lot more freely around Hogwarts than I'm comfortable with); a sort of taboo word that everyone knows but is too moral to say.

Like just now. Outside Seventh-Year Advanced Potions, down in the dungeons, I was standing outside the classroom with two of the girls from my dorm, chatting happily about last summer hols; my sister has moved out of home, so it was just me and my parents—I was able to do magic at home! And I wasn't even screamed at for it!

Anyway, we'd just gotten to the classroom and paused slightly to the left of the hallway when Mulciber and Avery came belting around the corner and crashed into me. I'd fallen on my arse before the momentum made me fall flat on my back; Avery landed on top of me. Instead of getting up, like any normal human being would have, he took the opportunity to grind his pelvis into me and laughed.

"Like the feel of that, Evans?" He'd sneered as I tried to push him off me. "You'd better savour it, because that's as close as you're ever gonna get to getting any from a _real_ wizard, mudblood."

The next thing I know, he's been blasted back into the wall by a barrage of angry jinxes; Alice pulls me to my feet, and I'm turning around to see half the corridor with their wands out, most of them pointing at the Slytherin who's now lying prone on the ground. The other six Slytherins in the corridor (Severus, Mulciber, Yaxley, McNair, Perkins and Rosier), have pulled their wands as well, but aren't exactly sure where to point them. Most of them point them at Potter, who looks absolutely livid.

The thing that hits me first is that Potter doesn't have his wand out. His expression is thunderous, but he hasn't taken his hands out of his pockets (I'm actually suspecting that he's fingering his wand, ready to pull it out if needed). He and Remus are the only ones other than myself that don't have their wands aimed at a Slytherin; even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the corridor are training their wands on at least one of them. Black looks about ready to kill Avery, who's just stumbled back to his feet and looking like he could snap Potter's neck.

"You alright, Evans?" Potter shifts his gaze to me for a moment. I manage a nod, leaning on Alice, still a little winded. He nods in return and turns his face back to Avery. "Twenty points from Slytherin and a detention for Avery for sexual harassment of the Head Girl, five for calling her a mu—for calling her _that_, and another five from both of you for running in the hallways." He snaps.

People are staring at him. I'm pretty sure my jaw is flapping in the wind. This is _not_ expected behaviour from James Potter. James Potter hexes and insults. James Potter pranks people for revenge. James Potter does not act like an adult and wisely use his position of authority to punish instead of getting back at them himself. James Potter is not this mature.

"Put your wands away, all of you, before Slughorn gets here." He snaps at everyone else. They all hurry to comply (even the Slytherins), since we can hear Slughorn humming merrily to himself just up the hall.

"Morning, seventh-years!" He booms blithely as he rounds the corner. "Er…" he seems to note the tension in the air, "…nothing going on, I hope?"

"Not at all, Professor." Potter grins jovially at the Head of Slytherin, murderous expression gone from his face. Actually, he looks rather cheeky. "We were just about to start working out the details of Avery's detention, you see. What do you think? Scrubbing cauldrons or polishing trophies? In my experience, both of them are quite stimulating."

The corridor echoes with appreciative laughter. Potter's reputation as a troublemaker is legendary—I suspect he holds some kind of record for number of detentions at Hogwarts. Or, if he doesn't, Black does. How he ever made Head Boy is still a mystery to me.

"Detention?" Slughorn frowns, confused. "Three days into term? Not abusing your power I hope, m'boy?"

"Never." Potter winked. His mates sniggered. I may have cracked a smile.

Possibly.

"Actually, Professor," I hear myself say, "if Potter hadn't given him a detention while I was getting my breath back, I would have done it myself."

Professor Slughorn's expression reverts back to its gleeful grin. "Ah, well then," he winks at me, "if our Head Boy and Girl are both in agreement, then I'll have to see you back here for cauldron scrubbing at 7pm sharp, Alfred. Can't have you mucking about this early into term, can we?"

He enters the classroom; we all sweep in behind him, and I take my seat next to Remus (which has been custom since the beginning of sixth year). As Potter and Black settle behind us, the seven Slytherins slink to the back of the classroom, shooting us looks of deep dislike. I ignore them. I get the feeling that Potter is smiling balefully at them, if the expression of rage I catch on Severus's face when I look up is any indication.

As Slughorn sets up the cauldrons with potions in them for us to identify at the front of the classroom, I twist in my seat to stare at Potter.

"What is it, Evans?" He looks up at me with a small smile.

I can't help the cheeky grin that spreads across my face. "A year ago you would have hexed Avery into oblivion." I told him. "I'm proud of you."

He practically preens at my words. "What can I say, Evans?" He grins at me. I can tell he's just _dying_ to add a wink in there, but he manages to suppress it. "Figure I might as well start taking _something_ seriously, yeah? I don't really fancy having you scream at me all year."

"Just keep going the way you're going and that wont be an issue." I smile properly and turn back around to face the front before he can notice the blush creeping up on my cheeks. Oh, bugger. _Why_ does he have to be so attractive?

"Merlin, Prongs," I hear Black mutter from behind me, "you sure you didn't pull on a pair of knickers this morning?" I can't help it. I giggle behind my hand as I hear a muffled 'thump' behind me, and Black complaining about where Potter kicked him under the table.

"Watch it, Padfoot." Potter mutters back. "I might have to chuck you in detention with Avery tonight if you're not careful."

Remus sniggers next to me as my giggles come back.

**- E N D -**


End file.
